The Alaska Brides Collection Part 19

"Here, honey." Ian slipped a blanket around her shoulders. He tested her forehead with the backs of his fingers. "You're not sick. That's the best news yet. I'm putting another log in the stove."

"I'll keep trying to get him to take the broth."

"Good."

"Ian? I'm afraid for you to go. And I'm afraid for you not to go."

He looked at her, then said quietly, "We'll make a pact. I'll pray for you and Tucker. You'll pray for me and Tucker. I think he needs our prayers most."

"Okay."

"We'll trust the Lord to make a way." Ian reached for his coat. He yanked it on and fastened it. Hanging from the same peg were his skates. He s.n.a.t.c.hed them. "Merry, G.o.d's already made the path."

He left, and she tried to watch through the bottle window as he skated away. Both of the men she loved were in danger.

Ian's hand stung from the cold. He pounded on the doctor's door anyway. He'd not yet met Doc Killbone, but that didn't matter. What did matter was that Tucker's best chance of survival lay with the doctor's knowledge and skill.

Thump, thump, thump. Still no answer.

Finally, the door opened a mere crack. "Doc's sicker'n a dawg. Can't help you none."

"He can still give me advice and medicine." Ian pushed his way past a short, squat man. "Where is he?"

"Asleep."

Ian hollered, "Doc? Doc!"

"He's sick, I tell you."

Ian turned and spotted a gaunt old man in a nightshirt. "Are you Doc Killbone?"

"Yuuuusss." The affirmative sounded as weak and drawn out as possible.

"Tucker Smith's sick. High fever. Nothing's making it break. What do we do?"

"Everybody's sick." Doc rubbed his temple. "I'm outta stuff."

"The mercantile-what does Socks have that would work?"

"No telling what he has." Doc shuffled back toward his bed, but he melted to the floor halfway there. Ian and the man who had answered the door lifted the doc into bed.

Doc closed his eyes and whispered wearily, "Sorry, son. Can't help."

Ian knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that under normal circ.u.mstances this man would have come. But these were not normal circ.u.mstances.

He went to the mercantile. Instead of going to the front door, Ian went to the back room where Socks lived.

Shoving open the door, Socks groused, "Makin' nuff noise to wake the dead."

"Tucker Smith's sick. High fever. What do you have?"

"Not a thing. Everyone else got whatever it is."

Ian refused to accept that answer. "You've got to have something." He brushed past and went into the mercantile. Most of the shelves were empty-but Wily had told Ian that was normal during the winter. Ian lit a candle, whispered a prayer, and scoured the place. Nothing.

"No miracles to be had here. You shoulda had those folks send you medicine instead of all that other junk they shipped."

Heavyhearted, Ian left the mercantile. He walked about ten yards, then jolted. Wily. He was in Skaguay for the winter-but he owned a place here in Goose Chase. He might have something.

Typical of Alaskan practicality, the doors to Wily's home were never locked. Matches and wood sufficient for a fire and food for a meal waited for any desperate wayfarer. Ian bypa.s.sed all of that. He rifled through Wily's other possessions.

Please, Lord. Please, Lord. Please. A leather satchel hung from a hook on the back of the door. Tucker grabbed it. The c.h.i.n.k and tingle of gla.s.s. .h.i.tting gla.s.s made his hopes soar. There, inside the bag, rested four small bottles and half a dozen vials. Each was numbered, and a palm-sized black leather book told what was in each numbered bottle and what its purpose was.

Snow started falling just moments after Ian laced on his skates and started skating up the iced river. With each pa.s.sing minute, the flurries grew. His muscles tensed and cramped. He wrapped the scarf Merry had made for him over his nose and mouth, but the air was so cold, he felt as if he were inhaling shards of gla.s.s. When it became too difficult to see more than a few feet ahead, he kept close to the side of the river. As long as it was on his left, he knew where he was.

Until he fell.

Meredith heard a sound. She hopped up and ran to the door. "Ian!"

He staggered in, and she slammed the door shut.

"You made it!"

He nodded and unlooped a leather strap from around his neck. She shoved him onto a stool and put a mug of coffee into his hands, then took the blanket from her own shoulders and wrapped him in it.

"Everyone. Town. Sick."

"Oh no."

He nodded wearily. "Got medicine bag. Wily's house."

"I was worried sick. This is the worst blizzard I've seen."

Ian's mouth tilted upward. "Bridge. Hit it. Got me home. G.o.d was with me."

Meredith set the bag on the table and carefully took out each jar and vial. "Quinine." She read. "Quinine! I know that's for fever!" The tiny book gave the proper dosage. Once she spooned it into Tucker, she turned back to Ian. "Your clothes are soaked. You have to change. Now."

He looked up at her. Though weariness painted every feature, his eyes still twinkled for a moment. "And you called your brother bossy."

Merry kept hopping up to give Ian more coffee and broth. He kept nudging her back onto a stool beside Tucker and draping a blanket over her shoulders. They took turns drizzling fluid into her brother.

"Merry, it's not going to do Tucker any good for both of us to be exhausted. We'll take turns. You lie down awhile."

She gave him a puzzled look.

Ian led her over closer to the stove. The heat radiating there felt so good. He'd set up her cot and had blankets waiting. "Lie down. I'll wake you if I need to."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

She lay down, but rest wouldn't come. Guilt mounted. Finally, Merry threw off the covers.

"It's my fault. Him being sick. It's my fault. We've always had each other. I made a promise to him. I've been begging him for months now, but he wouldn't release me from my word. I told him that I couldn't keep it anymore. It's anger. That's what this is. It's burning him hollow on the inside. He's mad that I was going to choose you over him. I am all he has, and I was going to betray him. He told me to go ahead and tell you. He told me I could, and he meant it, but look what it's doing. It's killing him. Now he's going to die, and you'll never trust me."

"Merry, honey, he's going to get better. I have faith he is. Aye, I think he's feeling a bit cooler. And he's not restless like he was."

"I didn't lie, but I did. Because I didn't tell you stuff I should have. I'm ashamed. I was living a lie because I didn't tell you something."

"But was it something I needed to be told?"

"Women are supposed to know about healing and stuff. I never learned it. Mama had a doctor, and once she went to her eternal rest, we were so healthy we never needed any help. What if he's not getting better? What if-"

"You're exhausted. 'Tis your fears talking, not your faith. Why don't you rest? It does no good for us both to stay up. If there's something you want to tell me later when things are back to normal, you can."

"You're being n.o.ble. That makes me feel even worse. The conviction I carry in my heart tells me it's just as wrong to withhold information as it is to give false information. You've asked about my family, and I've evaded telling you the truth."

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."

"But I want to tell you!"

"But Tucker doesn't want me to know it?"

"I've reasoned with him. He didn't do anything wrong. Our father did. Only Tucker feels our family's honor is gone." She leaned closer. "Father swindled a lot of people back home. They'd just recovered from the awful depression, and Father tricked them into trusting him. We once had a spread with prizewinning livestock. Now the bank owns it."

"I'm sorry. It must have been tough to live through giving up your land and livestock."

"It was, but worse, Tucker was engaged to be married. The girl's father called it off."

Ian looked indignant. "There was no call for that. Tucker is an honorable man."

Meredith couldn't seem to stop wringing her hands. "Worst of all, Father...ccommitted..." The word was too hard to speak aloud. "He took his own life. Tucker feels honor-bound to repay all of those people what Father swindled from them."

Bowing her head, Meredith added in a hushed voice, "And now we're no better than Father was. We've misled you. We've taken your food. We've even been mining gold on your claim. That's not the way to return the Christian charity you've shown."

Ian clasped both of her hands in his. "Merry, none of that matters to me. I wish I had enough money to pay back those people so Tucker and you could be free of that burden. G.o.d holds us accountable for our own actions, but I think you and Tucker are extraordinary. You aren't responsible for paying back the investors."

"You're not mad?"

"The two of you trusted your dad. He wasn't worthy of your trust. Discernment is a gift, but it's also a matter of wisely gathering information. I thank you for feeling you could trust me, but I don't fault Tucker for taking longer."

Tears streaked down her cheeks. "Will he have that time? Will he get better?"

"G.o.d willing."

Tucker's fever broke. Ian fought the urge to whoop with joy. He wouldn't do that-Meredith needed her rest. She'd no more unburdened her soul than she'd fallen fast asleep. How she'd managed to curl up like a kitten on one of those cots amazed him.

Ian filled a small cup with apple cider and lifted Tucker's head. Tucker took a few sips then stopped. Every few minutes, Ian coaxed him to take more.

Weariness dragged at him. At one point, he decided to hum.

Tucker's left eye opened a mere slit, and he frowned. "Liar."

"Tucker Smith, are you calling me a liar?"

"No singing." His voice sounded as gravelly as the silt they mined.

Ian leaned a mite closer. "I wasn't singing. I was humming. I gave you my word I wouldn't sing, but I never said I wouldn't hum or whistle."

"Ugh. Hum? Thought...mosquito."

Ian grinned. "You'd best open your eyes wider. I'm too small to be an Alaskan mosquito."

"No tune. Mosquito."

"You being sick, you just didn't recognize the hymn 'The Solid Rock.'"

The corner of Tucker's mouth twitched. "I'm better. I'd be sick if...recognized that tune." Suddenly, Tucker's brow furrowed. "Sis?"

"Sleeping. She's worn out." Ian lifted Tucker's head and tilted a cup to his mouth.

"Cider." Tucker scowled. "Coffee."

"Nay. Water, cider, or stew. Take your pick."

"Picking." Tucker looked over at his sister. "She picked you. Loves you."

"I was hoping so. She's a rare woman. I'm wanting to marry her, you know."

"Maybe not. Our dad-"

"Your father's not here for me to ask, so I'm asking you for her hand."

"But-"

"Tucker, whatever is in the past is done. No one should have to a.s.sume the guilt of another's deeds. Christ alone did that. G.o.d is the only Judge, and He grants forgiveness freely through His Son. I don't care what your father did. What I care about is you being my friend, and more important, you being my brother-in-law.

"I'll love Merry 'til my dying breath. Now are you going to give me permission to take her as my bride, or am I going to have to force you to drink more water?"

"Coffee, deal."

Meredith woke to the smell of coffee. She sat up on the edge of the cot and cried out, "Tucker!"

"He's too ornery to be sick." Ian stood and stretched.

"He needs hearty food, not coffee. Ian, you come lie down. I'll sit with my brother for a while. Oh, wasn't the Lord good to us?"

Tucker sat on the edge of the bed and groaned. "I feel like someone hit me with a two-by-four."